


late for the love of my life

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Concussions, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, this is what fic is for, too many emotions about these two after that video, yes i know concussion protocol does not work like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Sami has a concussion. This is not the first time this has happened. Kevin finds himself distracted by something else.





	late for the love of my life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Lumineers' "Cleopatra". Takes place immediately post-Raw 4/23, because that video was a LOT of Zowens content, you guys, and I'm not over Kevin saying he needs Sami (for the GRR! Not anything else!). I, uh, am really not over any of it, so have some feels.

Sami looked really bad to begin with, and he looks worse when the reporter and trainers finally buzz off. The rundown is significant: bruised ribs, pulled trapezius, minor concussion. Not the first time Sami’s been hurt, but the first time that Kevin has been there and not been able to help.

(Braun's drive-bys had been painful - like getting hit by a truck twice - but ultimately, Kevin had mostly gotten the wind knocked out of him and a few pretty spectacular bruises. Nothing like what Sami's got, and Kevin could kick himself.)

So he drives back to the hotel in silence, lets Sami whimper and curl up in the back, and tries not to think about Saudi Arabia and the Rumble match. The image comes anyway, himself beaten and weakened, surrounded by Daniel and Shane and Chris with Sami nowhere to be found. There are bound to be more guys who have it out for him, it could be all 48 other guys for all he knows.

Sami and Kevin vs. the World.

And that’s doable. They've been there before, Survivor Series and the entirety of two locker rooms out for their blood. But he can't do it without Sami, and Sami is looking even paler than usual and clutching his head at every tiny jolt of the car. How is he going to be able to fly?

“Did they clear you to fly?” He remembers to keep his voice soft. “Sami? Are you gonna be able to fly on Wednesday?”

“I don't know,” Sami says, voice too-faint. 

“Did you ask them?”

“Yes, of course I did.” He honestly sounds like he's going to cry, and Kevin steps a little harder on the gas. Five minutes to the hotel. “They said I'd have to come back tomorrow and do concussion testing.”

“Okay.”

It's not okay. It's not okay that Kurt threw them against Strowman and Lashley, it's not okay that Sami has a concussion, it’s not okay that they’re four days away from a huge match, it's not okay at all.

Sami groans as a car going the opposite way lays on the horn. “Fuck, who the fuck invented horns? Is that even necessary?”

He must be in pain; Sami expresses his displeasure with other drivers by swearing and pressing on the horn for a good five minutes straight. Kevin does not honk in response, as he might normally, but he does blow through a yellow light.

They reach the hotel, Sami curling into his hoodie, pulling it over his eyes to try and block out the light from the lobby. He curses and flinches when he goes to sling his gear bag over his shoulder, and Kevin grabs it, trades him the smaller rolling suitcase.

Of course the desk clerk has to give them a hard time on the night when Sami’s fighting a concussion, why should it be easy? 

“Owens, spelled O-w-e-n-s, I fucking told you it's under Owens, I booked it last week with that credit card you're holding.”

“Sir, I don't have any reservations under that name.”

“Motherfucking seriously? I have the confirmation in my phone, hold on.”

Sami slumps against the desk next to him. “Forget it, you can use mine-"

“No!” he yells, and watches Sami cringe. He rests a hand on Sami's arm, calms his breathing and lowers his voice. “No, it's okay. Go sit down, I'm sorry I yelled. I'm going to fix this, just give me a minute.”

Sami wanders over to the lobby couch and half-collapses, and Kevin spits every swear in every language he knows as he tries to find the confirmation email. This is not supposed to fucking happen to them anymore, they're in WWE and they're making real money now. Finds the email after a minute or so of scrolling, and shows it to the desk clerk, who goes pale and scurries for a manager.

Three minutes later, Kevin gets a profuse apology, a free night at any of the other hotel locations, and the key card to an upgraded suite. When he goes to collect Sami, he finds him shivering with his knees up to his chest, and Kevin practically has to deadlift him to his feet.

“Jesus, you look awful. Come on, Sami, we're going upstairs where it's nice and dark and quiet. Come on, lean on me, just leave the fucking bag, I'll have someone bring it up for us.”

The elevator is thankfully quiet, if not dark, and Sami curls miserably into his side. 

“What was the problem?” he asks.

Kevin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just focus on feeling better.”

He’s got a hand over Sami’s eyes as they exit the elevator and head for their room. Walking slow, because he’s kind of an all-over bruise himself, and he unlocks the door. Immediately goes for the light switch, dims the lights as much as possible while still being able to navigate.

“We’re here, no, a step to your left - no, your other left, _ta gauche, copain_ \- can I let go of your eyes now?”

Sami clings to him, and the part of him that still worries if he deserves Sami is pleased. He wants to be there for Sami, wants to take care of him, and usually, Sami will tell him off and curl up in his own bed. 

“ _Restez avec moi?_ ” Sami mumbles, and Kevin’s heart kicks.

“Yeah, of course I am.” He kisses Sami’s temple - it’s just for fun, it’s to make Sami smile, he doesn’t mean it - and pulls him further into the room. Bypasses the tasteful living room to get to the bedroom with the king bed that honestly looks like the best thing he’s seen in a week. “Come on, a few more steps, and then you can lie down.”

Sami’s almost sandbagging him, heavy against his arm and shoulder, and Kevin doesn’t know who it’s more of a relief for when they both collapse onto the bed. He ignores his own clothes, and goes for Sami’s sneakers. Gets them off, gets Sami’s hoodie off, and Sami’s blinking over at him slow. 

“Hey, look at me,” Kevin says, tilting Sami’s chin up. His eyes focus, which is good, but his reactions are delayed. “You know how this goes. You can sleep until I have to wake you up, and you can’t have your dumb music or tv to fall asleep to.”

Sami whimpers. “My ears keep ringing. I don’t think I could hear much anyway. I feel really fucking terrible, Kev.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” 

Sami is hugging his own waist, eyes sleepy and hazed, and Kevin wants that ring full of 48 men gunning for him so he can punch and kick and hurt something that deserves it. And Lashley, Bobby fucking Lashley who’s just another Brock Lesnar wannabe, who _hurt Sami_ -

“Can - ow, ow, ow - can you lay down with me? Please? I’m sorry for asking but it hurts and I feel so dizzy and I think I threw up in the trainer’s office-”

“ _Detendez-tu_ ,” Kevin murmurs, running a gentle hand over Sami’s hair. “Do you - how do you want to sleep? Shirt and boxers?”

Sami makes a sound of assent, and Kevin is not freaking out, he’s not. He’s just going to get Sami’s sweatpants off, and not objectify his concussed friend. Kevin sits Sami up, braces him against his chest, making sure Sami’s head doesn’t tip too far back or forward. Gets Sami’s sweats down to his knees, and Sami tries to kick them off, but he winces and struggles to sit up.

“No, relax, I’ve got it,” Kevin says. 

He reaches down to push the sweats off Sami’s legs, and rests him on the pillows. He might as well get comfortable - he’s still in ring gear, except for his boots - and he turns his back to retrieve a clean tee shirt and pair of shorts. He’s stripped down to his singlet when he hears a soft noise from Sami.

“I miss you wrestling in those.”

Kevin inhales sharply. Doesn’t turn, doesn’t react, just pulls the straps down. “I still do.”

“Just in those,” Sami says. 

He doesn’t elaborate, and Kevin doesn’t trust his own voice. Yanks it off as quickly as he can; Sami’s half-concussed and it’s dark, he won’t be able to see too much, won’t be able to see Kevin’s turned on and has been since Sami slid an arm around his waist in the elevator, leaned into him. He pulls the shorts on and goes for the shirt.

Shit.

Maybe Sami won’t notice. He won’t - Kevin’s being stupid, worrying over a shirt. He tugs it on and turns around, stops dead when he sees Sami.

Hair a wreck, curled around a pillow, eyes soft and hazy, he looks about twenty again. Like the annoying, adorable boy that attached himself to Kevin in a Quebec bar-turned-wrestling-ring and never let go. And Sami’s looking a little more lucid as his eyes flick from Kevin’s face to his shirt. His half-a-size too small El Generico shirt with the rip in the sleeve.

“I wondered where that went.”

“Must have ended up in my bag by mistake,” Kevin says, and that’s a lie.

Sami tries to nod, but winces and grabs his head. He takes a shaky breath and reaches out with one hand. “Kev, I might throw up again, I think I need to sleep and you said you’d-”

“Okay. Okay, Sami.” Carefully, he slides into bed, letting Sami curl up next to him, his hand resting on Sami’s hip and Sami’s head cradled on Kevin’s chest and shoulder. “Try to sleep.”

“Alarm every hour?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Sami’s fingers lace with Kevin’s, squeeze softly. “Thank you.”

He wants to tell Sami not to thank him. Never to thank him, not when he’s done what he has to Sami. But Sami’s dropped off already, breathing a little shakily but steady, and Kevin nods off as well, knowing he won’t have long.

1:35.

The first alarm goes off, buzzing in Kevin’s hand. He drags himself awake - fuck, his back is wrecked, he probably shouldn’t be on his side, but he’s not moving Sami - and gently shakes the sleeping Sami.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, brushing his knuckles against Sami’s cheek. “First wake-up. C’mon, I need you to open your eyes.”

“Nooooo,” Sami mumbles, and Kevin swats gently at his face until he opens his eyes. It shouldn’t surprise Sami - that’s what he does to Kevin when he’s the one who’s taken a bad hit. “Ow, light.”

“It’s just the moon. No, no you gotta keep your eyes open, Sami. I need to check you.”

Sami makes another annoyed sound, but his eyes flick open. They’re sleep-hazed, not concussion-hazed, so that’s good, and Kevin yawns and resets his alarm. Puts his hand over Sami’s eyes and rests it there.

“All right. Go back to sleep.”

Kevin expects him to stay in position, Sami usually sleeps curled up on his side, but he sighs and nudges softly at Kevin until Kevin’s on his back and Sami can stretch an arm across his belly. He tucks his nose into the crook of Kevin’s neck, and Kevin hopes to God Sami can’t feel how Kevin’s heart is pounding.

“Love you,” Sami says, his voice soft and slurring. Kevin can’t think, can’t react, and Sami noses against his cheek, beard scratching softly. “Should say that more.”

He blurts it out without thinking. “I know. I love you, too.”

There, it’s out there. It’s said, and he can’t unsay it, and if Sami maybe just wants to pretend he didn’t hear it because of the headache, then that’s what they’ll do.

And then Sami kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Sleep, Kev. We’re going to Saudi Arabia in two days.”

**Author's Note:**

> ta gauche, copain = your left, buddy  
> Restez avec moi? = Stay with me?  
> Detendez-tu= relax


End file.
